What I Made Room For

The screenshot came in at noon.

I was eating crackers at my desk.

The number on the offer letter

sat in the chat—I'd guess

fifteen thousand more than me,

maybe more. She's twenty-six.

I typed congratulations.

The family hearts came quick.

Mom sent a balloon emoji.

Jamie sent three in a row.

My read receipt sat under mine

with nowhere else to go.

That night I ran the math I run

sometimes, when I'm too tired

to pretend I don't—the years

I stayed put, the job I left, the hired

life I didn't take because

someone had to cover the rent

while she finished school, while he

got through it. I already went

through everything first, alone,

so they'd know what not to break.

I got the read receipt.

She got the offer. For her sake

I'm proud. I'll be proud tomorrow

when the number stops sitting in my throat.